Percy's struggles
by LightBronze
Summary: After a row with his father, Percy left and only returned years later. What happened in the mean time?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

My bedroom door nearly flew out of its hinges as I slammed it shut. How dare he? He has been running around with fools and traitors for years now, and even after the hideous lies that _boy_ came up with, he still wouldn't admit that maybe, maybe Fudge could be right about him. Foolish, stupid, idiotic, disgusting, filthy lies, and he just bought it like a four-year old! No way I was going to stand for that. And now, the die was cast. I needed to get out of there, and as quickly as I could.

Sure, I may have said some awful things. I saw the look on my father's face, and I heard his voice tremble when he shouted at me. His fists were balled and I was sure he was going to hit me at a certain point. But of course, he didn't. Just like he never acknowledges other people's faults. This was not a fault of mine, but still. No wonder he was still in the league with Dumbledore. He believed every lie the old crackpot told him, and never questioned the wildest stories. I was through with it. No way I was going to be associated with someone who could not recognise a lie when it had a huge red identification stamp on it. No way I could go to work the next day and tell my boss, the Minister of Magic himself, that I just put up with the lies and manipulation that the old sneak infested my family with.

I took a few deep breaths. I needed to calm down and I knew it. I never lost my temper like that before, and it should not be happening now. I needed to think clearly, make the right decisions, and eventually, make up for the background I have, in a world that was so different from the world that I grew up in, in which the old crowd was trustworthy and loyal. I scanned my room, tidy as always, and found what I was looking for: a bottle of Indian ink I like so much, a quill, and some parchment. The letter came first, and then I would have time to pack my bags while I waited for a reply. I sat down at the tiny desk under the window and started to write.

_Dear Mr. Bobbin._

_I have recently been informed of the fact that the room above your apothecary is for rent. I am in need of housing, and I would like to move into the residence as soon as possible. I will await your answer by returning owl._

_Yours sincerely,  
Percy Ignatius Weasly_

There. It was short, but it would have to do. I just hoped that the room was still available, and that the price would be reasonable. Because there was no way I could find a different house on such short notice. I needed to get out of the Burrow today, and I needed it to be permanent.  
I called Hermes over. The owl held out his foot obediently._ At least he can manage with what is expected of him_, I thought wryly. I tied the letter to his foot, gave him the correct address, and opened the window to allow him to take off. I turned to find my trunk, but hesitated. When I looked around at Hermes, who looked like no more than a tiny black spot against the blue sky, I realised that this made things final. As final as they could be, and things would never be the same.  
I shrugged off the feeling of unease that crept over me. Don't chicken out now, I told myself. This was a necessary measure and I needed to follow through with it. There was no way I could stay after what had been said down in the kitchen, and there was no way I could go back to work the following day reporting that I would go back to the Burrow after a long day of trying to improve the situation; something _some_ people desperately tried to stem. No, I needed to get out and start my own life, uninterrupted by the foolish decisions made by my father. What a shame he was to the family. To wizardkind, even! The hypocrite. The fool. The blood-traitor…

My thoughts were interrupted by the sounds from downstairs. My Dad, talking in a high-pitched voice, and Mum, sobbing and moaning, no doubt sitting at the kitchen table, her tears falling on her knitting. I never made Mum cry before… Not that she cried quickly. I only saw her cry on a few occasions, and nearly every time, somebody had gotten himself in some real danger. But not this time. I was not in danger. Dad was not in any immediate danger. He could get himself into some if he wasn't careful though, buying every fairy-tale the old headmaster told him. But no matter, he was safe for the moment. There was no time to feel guilty about this now.  
I started when I heard the door to the parlour being thrown open. "If I need to beat some sense into that boy…" I heard my father yell from downstairs. He was interrupted by Mum's whimpering. I could not understand a word she said. I looked down at my hands and noticed that my knuckles had turned white. I had been holding the window frame tightly, and my heart was beating at a quick pace. I bit my lower lip. What would I do if Dad actually came up to my bedroom? Would I fight him? Take the beating and then leave? Run for it? Maybe he would not even hit me at all. He never has, and it would be just like him to make idle threats.  
But the voices retreated into the parlour again. Mum was sobbing harder than ever, and my Dad's voice became softer. Soothing, like he always sounded when I had scratched my knees or fallen off Charlie's broom when my brother was out and left his broom unattended. I took a deep breath and squeezed my eyes shut, blinking back the tears that started to push their way out.

I got my trunk from under my bed and started packing. Socks, underwear, robes I only bought months ago… New robes, the kind my younger brothers did not have. And neither did I when I was younger. Bill's old clothes always fitted me perfectly by the time he grew out of them, and the season allowed me to wear them. I always grew just a little bit faster than all my brothers.  
I opened the bottom drawer of the old wardrobe. There they were: Bill's old robes. I had been wearing them without complaints. I looked good in them, always seeming more mature than in any of my school robes, or the Muggle outfits that I wore when I went anywhere during Summer Holidays. I picked up one of the bundles, neatly folded and smelling of Mum's detergent. It still looked all right. The fabric felt smooth, even though the colours had faded and the hemming on the left sleeve started to fray. I wondered whether they would still make me feel more grown-up, like they always used to make me feel. But no, I would not take them. It would be something to leave behind. Something that was part of my _old_ life, like a token of change. With a sigh, I put it back in the drawer and turned back to the trunk, that seemed almost empty.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Penny, you haven't heard him talk", I sighed. We were sitting at a small table in the Three Broomsticks, clutching large mugs of butterbeer. I looked into her eyes and could not help feeling a little lighter, remembering how the soft blue colour threw me into a state of confusion the first time I looked into her eyes. But the appraising look on her face quickly brought me back to reality. "I mean… His reasoning is flawed. He knows it, he nearly even admits it when I question his defence, but then he always starts about loyalty, knowing who your friends are, having the courage to stand up to those who oppress us… He completely avoids any deeper argumentation." The moment I finished speaking, I knew she was not convinced. She was looking at me sharply, the way she always did when she was about to argue, and most often, win. I usually loved that, because she always challenged me to think a bit longer and deeper, and broadened my view on whatever issues we discussed. But this time, my heart sank. This was somehow more important, and I could only hope that she would understand. I dreaded her response, but when it came, it was mild enough in tone. "So you gave up on talking to your father because you two disagree about what a good argument should contain?"

I felt my face flush with an unexpected kind of embarrassment. "It's… It's not like that," I stammered. I looked down at my hands, clutching the half-full mug, and rubbed my thumb over the logo of the pub printed on it. She completely misunderstood, exactly as I feared she would. "He keeps avoiding a real discussion, and he has been doing that for years now. I frustrates me to no end, and I am quite done with it." I did not look her in the eyes this time, but kept staring at the rings on the wooden table. The butterflies in my belly told me my words did not adequately explain the situation. Not by far actually.

Unwelcome tears stung in my eyes, threatening to fall. I turned my face, hoping she would not see that I was ready to cry. I felt childish, ashamed, and somehow, a bit angry with her. She was never supposed to see me like this. Why could she not let me keep my dignity? I was supposed to look after her, be strong and confident, not a pitiful mess. But before I knew it, she had slid off her chair and sat down next to me, wrapping her arms around me and chasing away the unshed tears with the soft smell of flowers in her hair. Merlin, she smelled good…

"Why don't you show me your new place after supper," she whispered. "I'd love to see it." I nodded into her soft curls and hugged her tightly. "Sounds like a plan," I responded quietly. She withdrew from the hug and looked me in the eyes. "You know, maybe things will seem better after a while. Sometimes it just seems so important that the people close to you agree with you, but if you just take a little distance, your differences become easier to discuss." She must have seen the feeling of dread creeping into my face, because she looked taken aback for a moment and then gave me a reassuring smile. "You and your dad will be fine. Just give it some time."

Slowly, the knot in my stomach became looser. For a moment, I thought she had intended to end our relationship. The beautiful, smart, funny Penelope, who was so out of my league. Yes, it was _very_ important that the people close to me agreed with me. But I could not imagine feeling closer to anyone than I felt to her. Not my brothers, not my parents, not even sweet little Ginny, who was always so honest and pure. "So are you ready to order?" she asked. I sighed and nodded. Yes, I most definitely was.

"Well, this is my room. It's not very big, but there's a wardrobe, a bed, a desk, and I have my own bathroom right over there," I pointed out. Penny walked around the room, taking in her surroundings. She smiled when she saw the bedspread, and ran her hand over the surface. She gave it to me for Christmas last year, and I loved it straight away. It combined the Gryffindor red and the Ravenclaw blue in a very elegant way, which is why she chose it and why I loved her so much. She pointed out differences between people as fun facts, instead of obstacles.

"So who else is living here?" she asked lightly. She looked out of the window onto the street, where it was still crowded despite the fact that it was nearly Midnight. I sat down beside her. "There is Mr and Mrs Bobbin. They own the apothecary and live on the first floor, just above the shop." I started. "Then on the second floor, there is Andreas, he just moved here from Austria. He works for Gringotts, but usually sleeps during daytime and only goes to work after closing hours. I am not sure what to think of that yet, because it doesn't seem like he is doing a job that requires him to work at such odd hours. He always comes home early in the morning, and I've seen him carrying piles of paperwork. But I don't really want to ask."  
By the twinkle in her eyes, I saw that Penny had already come up with at least two different theories about the strangle sleeping habits of my housemate. She didn't say though, but just looked up at me and asked: "Who else?"  
"Er… We have Adonia. She works at St Mungo's, some administrative job I think. She's at least fifty, and I actually don't know much about her. And then there is Diana. She lives just across the hall, and we share a kitchen. I don't see her around as much as you'd think though, because apparently, she is training to be an Auror and many of her lessons take place at night. She usually gets up just when I leave and gets home after I have gone to bed."

"So… We kind of have the entire floor for just the two of us right now?" Penny asked with a mischievous smile. She moved closer to me and started playing with my tie. My insides did a little backflip, as they had done so often just for her. "I guess that's true," I murmured in return. "Would you like to stay over for the night? I have an extra mattress under the bed, and it would be just perfect if we decided not to use that."


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's note: This came as a bit of a surprise. I decided to upload one part of the story just to have something to share as well, and before I knew it, some people were following it. I never expected that you guys. But considering this, I'll just start to take this a bit more seriously. I could use your feedback though, both to correct the already existing parts and for input as to how the story should proceed. Because I knew where to start (canon, start of OotP) and I know where I would like to end up (canon, end of DH), but the story in between is not entirely clear to me yet. I know where I want to go with some things, but not with others. So I'll just leave you with the all too familiar request: please R&R!_

**Chapter 3**

That week I settled into my new life. Work was a rush. The moment I sent out one report, three more requests came in to gather information about laws and regulations in one country, write minutes of the Minister's meeting of a representative of another country, or arrange a conference with parties from a third country. Memos kept fluttering around my head the moment I tried to concentrate on an issue, and whenever I left my office to send out some finished documents, a stack of work was left on my desk the moment I came back. I enjoyed it, but if I'm honest with myself, I must admit that I became quite stressed as well. Because no matter how much I enjoyed the confidence people put in me, and no matter how much I wanted to show them I was worth every inch of their trust, every task took me a bit longer than it would take an experienced Ministry employee. I worked late hours, ate lunch and dinner behind my desk while pouring over reports, requests and letters, and I did not have a single night off to spend with Penelope, which I regretted immensely. But no matter how tired I got, I would not say no to a job I got, even if it took me all night.

Friday had been even more of a hassle than the rest of the week. For some reason, the Minister of Magic of Venezuela demanded an urgent meeting with Minister Fudge, and he simply would not take no for an answer. Not even when I pointed out that the Minister was booked for the coming seventeen weeks, and that people were waiting in line to have a word with him about one urgent matter or another. His secretary's head had been sitting in the flames of my office floo for at least twenty minutes, yelling insults at my capacities and intelligence until I was ready to bolt out of my office to cry in the nearest lavatory (looking back, I think I was just exhausted – I don't do such things), when Dolores came in with an all too familiar pile of scrolls. The moment she set eyes on my floo, she dropped her scrolls, drew her wand, and extinguished the flames with a well-aimed spell, giving the secretary from Venezuela a none too comfortable trip back into his own office.

Once the flames were entirely gone, she rounded on me with a fire in her eyes I recognised as a sign of danger. I expected her to yell at me and backed up instinctively, but she gave the fireplace another resentful look. "The nerve," she spat. "I cannot believe some people get the confidence of their local Ministers while not even being able to maintain a professional stance." I gave the dripping logs a nervous look and realised she was talking about the representative from Venezuela who had only just disappeared from the floo. I opened my mouth and shut it again, at loss for words. Dolores just looked me up and down and sighed wearily. "You should not let people talk to you like that," she said in a soothing tone. "You may not be all that experienced, but you know all about your job, _and_you are aware of the code of conduct we maintain. You are better able to preserve some kind of order within this office than most people I know, so don't let them get to you.

The knot in my stomach started to dissolve. She was on my side, and it could not have been clearer. And we had a common ground. "You are rather fond of order, are you not?" I asked softly.

"I am," she replied, straightening her back. "Intelligent conversation about how we should interact is what sets us apart from other species. Never forget that, Mr Weasley. Order is the foundation of our society."

I gave her a smile. I had always recognised her as a person with a formidable personality, but I was unaware that she and I shared such important views. And even though we probably had nothing else in common, I felt proud for sharing this with her. After all, she was one of the most important people in the office, and in some respects, I had ambitions to become just like her. But to get there…

"Are those the files I need to process before Sunday?" I asked, pointing at the scrolls that were now scattered across the floor. I carefully picked up the roll closest to me and examined its contents. That would be difficult to wrap up, I noticed immediately. But I could do that. No problem, in fact. Because I knew what I wanted from life, and I actually knew just how to get there too.

* * *

I felt a lot better after my chat with Dolores, and I got to work again with renewed energy. But tired as I was, my resources were depleted again quickly, and I found myself waking up from a deep slumber at my desk around midnight, having worked until well past dinnertime. I rubbed my eyes and looked around my desk, which was still covered in paperwork that needed my attention. Better not go home right now, I decided. If I got all of this finished within a few hours, I could go home and enjoy the weekend without having to worry about anything, and I could come back on Monday to distribute all the finished pieces of work across the department, and make another well-rested start.

It took longer than I anticipated. I managed to keep my eyes open to finish everything, but by the time I screwed the lid back on my beloved bottle of Indian ink, the sun was high in the sky and my watch (which used to belong to Aunt Muriel's younger brother before he deceased) indicated that it was nearly noon. My back felt like I had been trampled by a band of raging Hippogriffs and there was a nagging pain just behind my left eye that threatened to spread through the rest of my head.

I walked out of the building to find London rainy and muddy. People were rushing past me, barely bothering to avoid running into me getting to their destinations. I had to jump out of the way several times before I even got to the end of the street, and by the time I was halfway home, the rain started making its way through my coat and my trousers were already soaked. I was cold, tired, wet, and thoroughly disappointed in the world. I shivered violently, and wanted nothing more than to get into a hot bath and not be disturbed. I secretly vowed to myself that anybody who disturbed me would die a most painful and slow death by the hands of yours truly.

I had to clutch my hands across my mouth not to scream when I saw the kitchen. Everything was covered in grease, pots, filthy towels or remains of something that had already dried up. Diana, with whom I shared the kitchen, had left, apparently, because when I knocked at her door, nobody answered and her room sounded empty even from the outside. I kicked the table in frustration, and a cup that had been balanced on the edge fell off and shattered across the tile floor. Hot tears stung in my eyes. Nothing, absolutely nothing of this would have happened if Father had not been such a hypocrite. If he had just treated me like any other member of the family when _they_ got a promotion, if he had just sucked up his stupid pride and love for the bloody corpse that still ruled over Hogwarts like a tyrant. If he had remembered with whom his loyalties should actually be.

I startled when the doorbell rang. Swearing that someone was going to get hurt, I stomped down the stairs.


	4. Chapter 4

_I had always kind of wondered how it was that people writing fanfics were constantly apologising for delays in their writing. I think I understand now. Sorry guys, I can make no promises. But I think I need to keep notes…_

**Chapter 4**

"Well, don't bother to come back!" I shouted and slammed the door shut. I was breathing heavily and could practically feel my heart exploding from my chest. I leaned against the wall, rubbing my cheek with the back of my hand. A shaking hand, I noticed. From the other side of the door, I heard a sob, followed by a faint plopping noise. She was gone. There was no going back now. And I never even saw it coming, but I sank down against the wall and burst into tears.

Why? Why did she even come here? Not to make things right between us, obviously. Maybe she needed to have a final word in this, or maybe she wanted revenge. Maybe she just wanted to make sure that there was absolutely no way I was going to just give in. And I most certainly wasn't! I was not afraid of Mother, and I was not going to apologise just because she shouted at me for a few moments. I wiped the tears off my face, but it was no use – they just kept flowing. Stupid, stupid tears. Stupid family. Stupid work, and stupid Diana. I took a deep breath. I could still feel Mother's hand making contact with the left side of my face, when I called her… No, not important. The important thing was that she could not intimidate me. My fist hunch was to just burst into tears and apologise, like a frightened little boy, but fortunately, my intelligence took over before I did something as stupid as that. I had looked at her coldly and asked whether there were more things she would like to say. And I did not even blink when she raised her hand again. The smack never came, but instead, she started to cry. No, take deep breaths Perce. Not important. It didn't matter. She could cry all she wanted, but I was not going to apologise. Not about what I said, not about anything.

I rested my head in my hands, and my breathing slowly got steadier. For Merlin's sake, I was a grown man, I could handle a small problem like this. I had a job, a home, a relationship… Maybe I should get a cat. No reason to question my own independence, or my capacity to be successful in anything I initiated. I stared at my hands and dared them to start shaking once more. They did not. See, I could control the situation, and I could handle anything I was confronted with. No problem, not for me. Not for a Weasley… I screwed my eyes shut. It was merely a name… Weasley pride meant nothing, and I could live without them. No Weasley pride, but just me and Penny, and that should be enough. One more deep breath. Straighten my back, chin up, shoulders back. I stood up, leaning against the panelling on the wall. My legs felt strangely weak, probably due to the fact that I had hardly slept since yesterday morning. I should not have fallen asleep behind my desk. Maybe a short nap would do me good. But first…

I stood in the shower way too long. The warmth was calming, and the steam coming from the hot water cleared my throat and my nostrils. I had not even been aware that breathing had become so difficult after the sleep deprivation, the rain, the cold room and not a decent meal since breakfast the previous day. No wonder my body rioted against my decisions. I leaned against the tiled wall, which gradually turned warm. The smell of soap filled the small space, and it calmed me in a way I never thought it could have. Only when I thought I could no longer stand on my feet and would fall asleep in the middle of my small bathroom did I turn off the tap. A quick spell to dry myself rather than grabbing a towel. Soft, cotton pyjamas, and then straight to bed. Maybe I could get used to living on my own. It was nice not having to get out of the shower quickly to let an eager sibling take a turn. Closing the curtains with a flick of my wand, I rolled into bed and instantly got lost in a deep, warm, comforting sleep.

I woke up to loud bangs in the kitchen. Furniture being moved, pots and pans being thrown on top of each other, dishes clanging against each other. I closed my eyes again and listened, hoping it would soon stop and I would get a little more rest. But it continued, and I pulled my pillow over my head in an attempt to drown out the sound and get five more minutes of sleep. But awake is awake, and sleep would not come. It was turning dark, so I must have slept for hours, and I could hear the sounds of people walking the streets, looking for a bite to eat or a glass of mead. Happy people, free of the stress of a new life with new expectations and higher bars than only a few weeks ago. I longed to be one of them, and suddenly, I no longer felt tired. I was, however, incredibly hungry. But getting up and finding something to eat in the kitchen meant facing Diana, and I was not sure I could handle facing anybody.

A few more moments of pondering, and I had made my decision. My stomach was throwing a tantrum and my muscles ached to get up and move around a bit. I threw the heavy blanket off me and sat up, taking in the small room. It wasn't much, but it was clean and tidy, just the way I liked it. There was no mess lying around, except for the robe I had unceremoniously dumped on the chair. I swung my feet off the bed, feeling more relaxed than I had felt in days, maybe weeks. Rubbing my eyes, I picked up the robe and folded it neatly before placing it in the hamper. Laundry would come tomorrow.

I entered the kitchen in my pyjamas, pulling a jumper over my head. Diana was standing by the kitchen counter, balancing a pile of dirty dishes on a tray. She turned quickly when she heard my door open and started to violently that she almost dropped the tray, turning a bright shade of pink. "Oh, I didn't realise you had come home," she gasped. Putting down the tray, she put one hand on her forehead and summoned a chair from the far end of the kitchen, placing it by the table. I just stood there and stared.

I had planned to come in here and tell her exactly what I thought of the state the kitchen was in when I had come home earlier that day. I had planned to demand an apology, and promises for the future, and maybe a little remorse. But the kind gesture of pulling up a chair, along with her pink face and disarming clumsiness in her attitude, made me feel at loss for words. She was at least two years my senior, but she seemed so young just then, and I could not bring myself to get angry with her. Besides, if I was honest, most of my anger had disappeared while I was sleeping. Maybe the mess in the kitchen was one of those problems I could deal with, and maybe I could do so coolly.

"I'm sorry about the kitchen," she said, taking me by surprise. She went on at a quick pace: "You see, we had a practical exam today, and we had been up all night working on the case and when it was over, way after sunrise, we decided we should take a nap at Maxwell's place, and Elizabeth proposed to make biscuits afterwards, so we did, and we honestly needed to get drunk too, so there was no time to clean up the kitchen, and then everybody just got up and left and I didn't know what to do, so I was home later than I intended, but I thought you wouldn't be home as you had already left when I got home by the end of the morning, so I guess I thought… Well… Maybe I wasn't thinking. I Hope you're not terribly angry?"

I blinked, momentarily at loss for words. I did not understand one single bit of her story, but I didn't really want to ask stupid questions, so I nodded, sat down on the chair she offered me, and said quietly: "That's all right. Say, have you got any of those biscuits left?"


End file.
